


Rainbow of Chack

by CrystallicSky



Series: Prompt Fics [2]
Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Rainbow, Taste the Rainbow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-28
Updated: 2008-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallicSky/pseuds/CrystallicSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets inspired by the colors of the rainbow (plus a few extra).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainbow of Chack

_**Red-**_

As of late, Chase Young's favorite color had become red.

It was a powerful, passionate, _beautiful_ color, and he could easily think of several situations in which he absolutely adored seeing it: on white cheeks, damp and plastered to the pillows of his bed, or dripping from the cut on a lip that he'd caused by nipping there a bit too hard.

Most of all, he was enamored of the color red gazing up at him with complete trust, adoration, and love.

 

_**Orange-**_

Spirited, lively, energetic, and bright: all of these words were commonly associated with the color orange.

Sparing a brief glance to the fiery head of such a shade nestled under his blankets and not so much as snoring in a manner so contrary to what Spicer was like when conscious, Chase decided that yes, this was definitely an appropriate color for his goth lover to have dyed his hair.

 

**_Yellow-_**

Jack Spicer was a coward.

Craven, chicken, sissy, wimp, yellow-belly... You name it, he'd been accused of being it before, and more often than not, the accusations were spot on.

However, the goth had the feeling, were anyone who'd ever called him such a name to see _this_ , him having of _sex_ with a huge, monstrous lizard and showing no indication of fear whatsoever, but only an expression of love and ecstasy on his face, that they would _surely_ retract such slanderous comments.

 

**_Green-_**

Chase was very proud of his hair, that much, Jack was sure. He _had_ to be, because what other warriors existed in the world with a gorgeous mane of dark hair so black it shone green? None, that's how many.

The goth had always sort of been fascinated with it, mesmerized by the way it spilled like silk over the warlord's shoulders, how it swished behind him like the tail of a cat when the man moved sharply, and the manner in which it could appear so wild and wicked and yet allow Chase his look of such elegance and sophistication.

Of course, what had most captivated Jack's attention about it was the way it felt. Obviously, he'd never felt it before— the man would never have allowed him that privilege and because he wished to keep his life, he never made any sort of foolish attempt to touch it or even riskier, snip off a lock for himself. For a long time, he simply had to be content with looking at the beautiful, dark green mane and fantasizing.

Now, though, Jack nuzzled his cheek against the curtain of softer-than-silk hair, delighting in the fact that the only thing Chase did about this was to slur tiredly, "Spicer, it's late. Go back to sleep…"

 

**_Blue-_**

He always wore blue on Valentines Day. Every year, year _after_ year, he would wear a deep, cool shade of azure as his own way of purposefully-contrary self-expression.

Whenever schoolmates or family asked him questions like, "Why are you wearing that?" or "Don't you know today's color-scheme is more reds and pinks?" he would dismiss them with a shrug. Inside, he snarled, "I'm wearing it because I might as fuckin' well!" and "I don't give a shit about your precious little color scheme, you fucker!"

He refused to play along with this stupid holiday, point blank refused; why should he wear red or pink like everybody else in recognition of the beauty of love, or whatever the hell the holiday was supposed to be about anymore, when even the very classmates and family that were trying to get him to like it wouldn't even give him so much as a, 'Happy Valentines Day?'

No, that wasn't fair— if no one would even _pretend_ to love him on such a day, then he wouldn't even _pretend_ he liked it.

Imagine the surprise of all he had to associate with daily, then, to see him enter the room wearing a cheerful, red turtleneck on such a day. "What's with the change?" the asked him, "Why are you getting with the spirit now?"

The goth smiled almost shyly and shook his head, indicating he would not explain that he'd decided to partake in this year's Valentines Day because of a warm, affectionate kiss he'd received from the only man he'd ever wanted one from in commemoration of the day.

 

_**Violet-**_

Chase would never admit his great measure of shock upon discovering countless bruises littering his mate's pale skin, varying shades of violet and red standing out darkly against the otherwise white flesh.

Most of the surprise was where they had come from: he'd seen Jack nude many times (and rather recently, as well) and there had been no trace of such damages to his fragile body then. It hadn't taken him long to realize that a combination of makeup and science could do the job of hiding the discolorations from his eyes, and from there, it wasn't a great leap to figure out who was the cause of them.

After all, had not a dragon of wind sucker-punched the goth in a Showdown only a week ago in the same spot as there was now a large, fist-shaped stain of blackish purple?

The warlord decided that he would not bring up the matter of concealing these injuries from him to his Jack, at least not just yet. No, that could wait until _after_ he'd had his vengeance on those that had dared to mark his mate, a privilege meant only for _him_.

 

_**Gold-**_

Gold: the color of wealth and desire, of power, strength, and perfection. It was coveted by so many, but none so much as by Jack Spicer, who would gladly give up his life to have just _one golden look_ sent his way with some emotion besides distaste.

It never occurred to him to think of what might happen to him _personally_ if he got in the way of the sharp sword aimed at his idol, never considered the consequences of it for even a second, and why would he have? He was in love.

As Jack collapsed to the dirt, looking nothing more than a limp, black ragdoll that had been dropped on the floor, he considered his actions after the fact. The wound wasn't fatal, that much he knew. Had the sword pierced his heart, he would have died instantly, and he knew enough medically (thanks to all the occasions he'd had to patch himself up after losing a Showdown) to know that what he was feeling was not indicative of a death-wound.

Oh, sure, his abdomen hurt like a bitch and would take _forever_ to heal, but at least he'd be around _for_ it to heal.

He was a bit surprised, at that moment, to be half-held by a strong pair of arms and demanded of, "What were you _thinking_ , you little fool?!"

Unable to open his eyes against the pain in his middle, the albino could only honestly answer, "I wasn't…"

"You're damned right you weren't!" the voice snarled at him, and _this_ got Jack's eyes open, because Chase _never_ swore, and what he saw stunned him to the core. The warlord's eyes, that beautiful, frigid gold, were now hot, _boiling_ with what almost looked like concern, accompanied by a hint of…Jesus tap-dancing Christ, was that _fear_?

This, of course, was only backed up by the unnaturally quick heartbeat he could hear, what with his cheek pressed to the man's chest, and he found he had absolutely nothing to say with his shock so great as to mute the throbbing of his stomach.

"Apparently, you cannot even be trusted to be on your own," Chase growled at him, and listening harder, the goth could hear a slight waver of panic in his voice. "I suppose it falls to _me_ to make sure you don't do anything _else_ as stupid as this!"

Jack couldn't help a smile despite himself— the gold he'd so badly wanted…it was his, now, and he hadn't even had to actually die to make it happen!

 

_**Silver-**_

It had taken much internal debate and consideration, but after a long, long time since deciding on it, Chase eventually came to the conclusion that a silver collar would be a nice choice to put around Spicer's neck, perhaps accompanied by a leash of chain to compliment the look.

 

_**Pink-**_

Such a delicate shade of pink, so pale and lovely a rosy hue to spread over cheeks of only _just_ a lighter shade at an accidental touch of hands that Chase felt he very nearly _had_ to kiss Spicer, if just for the fact that the boy looked simply _charming_ when he blushed.

 

_**Lavender-**_

In his lusty, teenaged imaginings, Jack had always pictured his evil hero's bedroom as black, dark and wicked like he was with perhaps an offset of his colors, green or bronze or even a slight hint of crimson.

Actually getting there to find it done in cool, pastel colors was a little surprising. After a bit of thought, however, twenty-three seconds' worth to be exact, the goth decided that these were in fact acceptable colors for the warlord's bedchambers, calm and soothing enough to allow even as malevolent a creature as Chase enough peace to sleep.

Of course, Jack thought smugly to himself as his shirt was torn off and he was practically _thrown_ onto lavender sheets, the warlord wouldn't exactly be _sleeping_ in here for awhile yet…

 

_**Brown-**_

Before becoming the lover of Chase Young, Jack had never associated brown with anything sexual.

However, nowadays that was the _only_ thing he associated it with, as it often ended up being the color he was looking at as he was fucked into oblivion, whether it be in the form of soil, the floor at his house, a table, a chair, a tree (yes, he'd actually been had up against a _tree_ ), or the most common version of the color, the headboard of the warlord's bed.

 

_**Puce-**_

"I hate the rain," his lover grumbled, glaring daggers out the window at the sheets of water buffeting the glass.

Jack had long ago learned that a lot of the things Chase hated, he was scared of to some extent. After much prying, he'd discovered that when he'd been a child, the warlord had been terribly frightened of storms, which explained his uneasiness with them even now. Nothing good ever happened when it was storming outside.

Now, though, he was more focused on the man's choice of clothing for this gray, early morning, a robe of the color puce. Not maroon, not burgundy, _puce_. Jack had never seen his lover dabble in such a color-scheme before. Therefore he did the same as he had when Chase had told him about his hate for rain, nosing about with ridiculously repetitive questions until finally, he was given an answer.

"My…mother…used to wear puce…" Chase had murmured softly, looking anywhere but to Jack's face in discomfort. If the goth knew he audibly awwwed in sympathy, he didn't care. It was nice to know that, to some extent, the man was still human, still subconsciously seeking protection from his mother even though he could now very well protect himself and the woman he'd called 'mother' was _long_ dead.

To make sure the warlord knew that such a thing was actually acceptable, even for a wicked dragon like him, Jack shifted on the couch and hugged Chase tightly and reassuringly, his pale arms encircling puce-covered shoulders.

 

_**Cyan-**_

It always took much coaxing and begging to get Chase to use his own pool every once in awhile when Jack wanted company for a swim, but there was one thing that _always_ got him to wade into the cyan waters to play with his lover: the goth's decision that he didn't need a swimsuit for it all that badly.

 

_**Black-**_

It had been hard to come to terms with the fact that he, the master of evil with a heart as black as coal, was softening, beginning to _love_.

He refused to accept it, at first, deeming the object of his attentions unworthy of him and had therefore tested his supposed devotion rigorously. Again and again, however, the boy's dedication remained constant no matter how many times he'd been struck, insulted, or refused, and each time, the warlord's awe that _anything_ could remain persistent in the face of such rejection was augmented.

When Jack had finally collapsed, bruised and bleeding a bit on his floor from a particularly _harsh_ rejection, softly murmuring, "I love you," in a completely solemn tone, he had at last broken.

"I…love you, too…" he'd admitted so quietly that it was dubious the half-unconscious goth had even heard it as he was gently scooped up in strong arms and brought to Chase's bedroom to rest.

 

_**Gray-**_

Jack had always disliked the fact that the general orientation of his mood could actually affect his skin-color.

If it was a good mood he was in, it was purely white, but if it were bad, he would basically turn a light _gray_ , a color he'd always personally found gross and uninteresting. He _hated_ that.

It was a good thing, then, that he hadn't been in a bad mood in two to three months, and how could _anyone_ be in a bad mood when you were given the privilege of referring to the most dangerous man in the world as 'honey' and still being allowed to keeping your spine?

 

_**White-**_

White was often seen as a color of purity, a marking of goodness and innocence. A young man with skin of such a shade, therefore, should be untouched, unmarked, and untainted by neither evil, nor the hands of man or woman.

Chase Young held a great measure of pride in the fact that such a being _had_ been so before he'd come along, and that _he_ had been the one to thoroughly touch, mark, and taint that chaste innocence.


End file.
